


The Rendezvous Point

by santanico



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny’s fingers find his hip, dig in slow through layers of fabric and Dean’s breath hitches with slow surprise. His eyes turn up and they’re facing each other, both quite still, Benny’s gaze locked-on, Dean his target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rendezvous Point

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Место встречи](https://archiveofourown.org/works/832195) by [chemerika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemerika/pseuds/chemerika)



They’re in a bar, only a few miles out of Pittsburgh. Dean hasn’t been around these parts in ages; he loses track of where he’s been and when, but he’s still pretty sure he’s been in this dusty bar before. The air tastes familiar.

But his senses are heightened, and everything’s familiar to him somehow now.

Sam’s finger-scrolling through his phone; it’s got a touch screen and Dean thinks it’s probably one of those hacked phones that Sam can constantly steal WiFi with. Dean supposes that means they don’t have to waste more time buying laptops; well, stealing them. In the way of technology, Sam and Dean are different.

Sam doesn’t look up when Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket but Dean twitches, hastily pulling his phone from his pocket. One text message; Benny knows where he is and has invited him out for a smoke.

Dean isn’t really sure how much longer he can do this, but the pull is strong and he grabs his beer and says to Sam, “I’ll be back in a few.” He doesn’t know how true that statement is, never really knows what’s really going to happen, but Sam doesn’t seem too distracted and just nods, making quick eye contact.

Benny is leaning against the bricks on the side of the building and stirring a shot of what Dean thinks is whisky in a glass.

“Guilty, aren’t we?”

Dean’s shoulders bunch and he frowns at Benny deeply for a long moment. “…Maybe,” he finally admits after a short moment of hesitation, slugging back his drink. He falls back against the wall besides Benny, watches as Benny’s calloused fingers remove a cigarette from the pack. He pockets the pack and pulls out a lighter, flicks it once, then twice – it lights and he holds it up to the end of his cigarette, not close enough to his mouth to be dangerous but for whatever reason Dean can’t stop watching.

“You want a light?” Benny asks, offering his lighter to Dean. He never shares cigarettes; but Dean isn’t really in the habit of smoking. He likes the smell of it, and he likes how it sticks to Benny, makes the air around him taste dangerous.

“No, thanks…”

The moment is still, Dean’s free hand shoved awkwardly in a jacket pocket. It’s cold, and Dean can’t see his breath but it won’t be long. He wishes he and Sam could live in Florida, or down south in California, and that he’d never have to see snow again. He casts a look at Benny again and flinches when he notices he’s being watched.

“You’re awful quiet. How are things?”

Odd, to be engaged like this. Dean shifts from leg to leg, shrugging. He scratches the back of his neck, rubs the goosebumps on the nape and his shoulders. 

“Things are fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Benny breathes in deeply. Dean tries to take quiet, deep breaths. Tries to calm the slow build of thudding in his chest. He almost forgets that Benny can hear it; Benny can hear anything.

Dean remembers being a vampire. He remembers the rush of human blood in his ears. He remembers how he wanted to throw Lisa down and kiss every last breath out of her. He remembers how impossible it was to control. How much he wanted to feed.

He shudders.

“You alright there, stranger?”

Dean wants to kiss him again. He wants Benny to press him against the brick until he cannot breathe; or at least until he’s shuddering and begging for it. 

And Dean isn’t used to this. It makes him uncomfortable, makes his skin itch and crawl – he wants to be under Benny, wants Benny’s scruff on his throat and chest and thighs.

“I’m fine.” But his voice trembles. The beer settled between his fingers is quivering because his hand isn’t steady. He doesn’t even feel buzzed; his first beer isn’t even half-empty. He tries to recall why he really came out here. For a smoke, that was what Benny offered. 

Benny’s fingers find his hip, dig in slow through layers of fabric and Dean’s breath hitches with slow surprise. His eyes turn up and they’re facing each other, both quite still, Benny’s gaze locked-on, Dean his target.

Dean opens his mouth, though he’s uncertain what he means to say, but before he even gets the chance Benny surges forward. He crowds him against the brick, sloppy lips and tongue and no sense of direction. The verses Dean writes in his head are all cliché’s but he grips Benny’s shirt, old and rough plaid, wants to bury himself in the scent. 

Benny never bites, never even nips, but his tongue is an expert and he plies Dean to his will.

The brick feels welcoming, familiar in a way Dean could never explain, would never want to explain. He bites down on his bottom lip and the pain is a pleasant reminder, contrasts well with the warmth of the body rutting up against him, the knee between his thighs, the scrape of brick against his cheek. Benny cups his chin and strokes over his jaw and Dean opens his mouth again, playing happily into the dirty kisses that follow.

It’s a fierce protection, a field for Dean to belong in. Benny’s hips rock forward, all pleasant and slow friction that isn’t going to last long. Dean’s been turned on since he stepped out of the bar and saw Benny leaning against the wall but now he’s hard, pinned to the brick with nowhere to go as Benny rolls against him, murmuring sweet words into his ear.

Dean gasps at the forceful pressure on his back and finds his palms against the wall, trying to steady himself. The warmth is gone, replaced instead by a sudden blast of cold air. He turns, unsteady on his legs, and watches as Benny paces further away from Dean

“Benny…?”

“Go back inside.”

Dean fights not to obey.

“What’s wrong?”

“Get inside.”

Dean bites his tongue but goes. He’ll wait for the next text message.

This is how it will go.


End file.
